Goodbye, My Hopeless Dream
by OuEstLaCraie
Summary: Oneshot sequel to Goodbye, My Almost Lover, although this pretty much stands on its own. Nick can't decide if he should try to make his hopeless dream reality. More angstromance.  Snickers. R&R pwease. Possibly 1 or 2 more stories.


**_Author's Note: Yes, it's a sequel to "Goodbye, My Almost Lover," but it stands on its own. Still based on "Almost Lover" by A Fine Frenzy. Still no forensics-y type things, because I suck at that. Romance and angst seem to be my thing._**

**Disclaimer: Nothing is mine. See? I clearly stated it. So, meh.**

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It was late. The sliver of moon hanging in the velvety black sky cast a soft white glow onto the wispy clouds floating past, but couldn't quite manage to make a big impact on the Las Vegas casinos below. A few of the brightest stars were just barely visible, the others obliterated by the city lights. Hundreds of people were still awake, walking the streets, in search of luck, love, money...take your pick. Then again, you didn't have to be out to be searching for those things. 

Nick certainly wasn't. Lying in bed, he was contemplating the preceding day, as well as the day to come, and where his life was going. Heavy stuff to be thinking about at midnight. And yet, necessary thinking.

Grissom had made an announcement today. But it wasn't just _any_ announcement. It wasn't, "Unidentified female, twenty-five, found in a room at Caesar's Palace," or, "The vending machines will be back in service within the next week." No, this was something of actual importance: Sara was coming back to work.

He knew she'd been discharged about two weeks back, had spent her time at home, recuperating, since her seventy-two hour hospital stay. And now, she was feeling better. She was healed (physically, at least). She was _coming back_.

And though he was overjoyed at the prospect of seeing her again, of breathing the same air she did, of working a hair's-breadth from where she was, of seeing her for hours on end, day in and day out, he was also apprehensive.

She didn't know how he felt. She didn't know that he alone had sat by her beside for almost every hour she was in the hospital. She didn't know that when he had relinquished his vigil, just for a few hours, just to sleep and shower and eat, all so he could be ready to sit by her side for another three days, if need be, Grissom had decided to visit. And even if she had known all of this, would it make a difference? He doubted it. She was with Grissom; they were an "item," as Catherine liked to call it. _She's screwing the boss_, he preferred to tell himself bitterly on the nights when the pain of losing her was too much to bare. _Plain and simple. Screwing him to get ahead._

But that wasn't the case; no, not at all. Nothing in his life could be that simple, that easy, that black and white. Plus, neither Grissom nor Sara seemed the type to take part in that kind of relationship. And he _knew_ that. And usually, afterward, he regretted ever thinking it, hated that he was able to convince himself that he was right, that what he was thinking was the truth.

But it made it hurt a little less, if only for a short time.

Somehow, despite his raging thoughts, exhaustion (of both the physical and mental sort) took over, clouding his mind. Everything faded into deep, eternal black, and he slept. And surprisingly, it was a restful night; he would even go as far as to call it a good night's sleep. It had been almost dreamless...almost.

The only dream he had (or, at least, the only one he could remember having) was a blissful escape from everyday life. He was...well, _somewhere_, some fantasy world far away from Las Vegas and the crime lab. The steady hum of traffic and conversation was replaced the sound of breeze-rustled leaves in huge old oak trees. Pavement was replaced with fresh green grass, casinos with winding rivers and massive waterfalls. Prostitutes and drug dealers grew fur, becoming the wildlife that populated the land. All was calm and awe-inspiring and beautiful and almost perfect...almost.

He remembered resting against the withered trunk of wide willow tree, settling down to watch fish glide downstream with the current, the clouds blow by in the pale sky, tiny creatures scamper and leap and play. And he remembered thinking how perfect it all seemed, remembered wishing he could somehow make his dream world a reality, remembered noting wistfully that only one thing would complete the almost-perfect dream.

Remembered feeling a gently hand on his shoulder.

Remembered turning slowly, unable to believe what his eyes beheld.

Remembered Sara, taking a seat beside him, smiling gently, and asking, "Perfect is the word for this place, isn't it?"

Remembered his face breaking into a wide grin as he nodded slowly and replied, "It is now."

And when he was ripped from the dream by the shriek of a car alarm, he was still smiling. But as the dream began to fade away, as reality began to set in once more, he sighed and stared up at the ceiling. It was only a dream; that was all it would ever be. A hopeless dream, a silent proclamation of his adoration that would never be answered. It was dust. It was smoke. It was nothing.

But, then again...how many times in history had someone built an empire out of nothing? How many people had persevered even when they had nothing left to go on, nothing to hold on to, no one to look to?

After all, he _was_ a Southern gentleman. And in the Old South, men fought for the women they loved. Why not continue the tradition? Okay, so maybe he'd have to nix the idea of challenging Grissom to a duel. But he still had to try. To fight. He couldn't keep his feelings to himself anymore. It pained him to hide how he felt; he'd probably explode if he had to stand in the same room as Sara and go about his day as if everything were business as usual.

He glanced at the clock. Six o'clock. It was early, but she'd be up. They both had to be at work in a little while, after all. He sat up, swung his legs over the side of the bed, half-smiled to himself. He'd go over to her apartment, try to talk to her. And if the words got stuck in his throat, as they had so many times before, he'd offer her a ride to the lab, tell her on the way there. Yes, it would take more than one early morning chat to work everything out...especially if he poured out his heart and soul to her, and she told him she wasn't interested. But he'd tell her. He'd tell her this morning. Even if it killed him.

And maybe, just maybe, if the stars were aligned and the planets were in the proper houses and whoever was up there smiled on him, she would be willing to give him a chance.

Maybe, just maybe, he could say goodbye to the hopeless dream once and for all.


End file.
